


fulfill your thirst

by asemic



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: M/M, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Scent Kink, Stalking, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 01:52:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19713889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asemic/pseuds/asemic
Summary: John Irving is bathed in Victorian repressions and consumed with lust. It is a poor combination.





	fulfill your thirst

One man stood with another reflected. A fool rendered pathetic by sickening wants he journeyed to extinguish. He believed he’d achieve spiritual clarity surrounded by these crystalline voids, an expansion of the self. Transcend the flesh and earthly and commune fully with the spiritual. Instead, he shrank within himself; his body drove his focus. _His_ body. Impossible to not notice Hickey's scent when he followed the man up the ladder. A pulsing voice whispered to hold him fast and bury his face to the thin layer hiding his genitals. Rest his nose and lips there until he tasted the sweat and growing arousal. Like they were animals and not representatives of an empire, good men of Victoria. 

The devil lived in all men. Some were creatures of violence, others gluttony. His, lust, sprawled itself inside his skin and took command when he slept. He often woke to wetness and pieces of dreams he stitched together. 

Hickey stripped down and wrist-tied to the rigging while John’s tongue slipped and sought all the spaces of his body to lick him clean. He focused between his buttocks to flick against his arsehole: the most secret place a man could derive pleasure. Lapped him until the man sank and sobbed and cried _John, John, John_ but _John, John, John_ pressed his tongue in deeper to wetly prepare him. Cats yowl and so did Hickey when John sank his teeth into his neck. Fucking his fundament, a fundamentally carnal act done roughly to claim Cornelius Hickey as his. 

Surely the shirt and sheet would be inspected by their steward, the stains and scent of spend noted. What would Gibson think? John shut his eyes and imagined his curly hair bowed over his laundry. He’d lean closer and breathe deep. The devil drove John’s hand down and plotted the course of William Gibson's daily movements. He’d follow him up the ladder and introduce him to the rigging.


End file.
